The Wish Collector
Page 74
Jonah nodded on a smile, lingering another few moments with the woman he loved in this place that always felt enchanted.
And then he took her hand as they turned toward the house where so many of the people they’d come to call family were waiting for them: Myrtle and Cecil of course, his brothers from the Brass Angels, Fabienne—who Clara had formed a close friendship with—and her husband, Alphonse, fellow dancers, Belinda and Roxanne, and Mrs. Guillot and her “gentlemen friend”, Harry Rochefort.
Tonight they would be the first to see a piece of evidence given to the society, which had been found in an old attic by a distant relative of John Whitfield. Signed by Abraham Lincoln himself, John was applauded for his work for emancipation, for diligence in righting the wrong of slavery. He was hailed a hero. Rightfully.
Clara looked up and Jonah followed her gaze as two stars streaked across the sky, dancing over one another and leaving shimmering trails of light in their wake. The glittering glow faded slowly, disappearing into some distant place far beyond.
“Do you think they’re up there?” Clara murmured.
Jonah glanced at her, his heart swelling with love for the woman he’d first fallen in love with through a wall of stone and who he now walked side by side with through the world.
He’d once been her wish collector, but she’d been the one to give him all of the things he’d never dared to dream of. Happiness. Peace. Pride. A soul mate.
“Yes,” Jonah whispered, squeezing her hand. That night it was easy to believe in magic. That night, there was magic all around him.
And then he took her hand as they turned toward the house where so many of the people they’d come to call family were waiting for them: Myrtle and Cecil of course, his brothers from the Brass Angels, Fabienne—who Clara had formed a close friendship with—and her husband, Alphonse, fellow dancers, Belinda and Roxanne, and Mrs. Guillot and her “gentlemen friend”, Harry Rochefort.
Tonight they would be the first to see a piece of evidence given to the society, which had been found in an old attic by a distant relative of John Whitfield. Signed by Abraham Lincoln himself, John was applauded for his work for emancipation, for diligence in righting the wrong of slavery. He was hailed a hero. Rightfully.
Clara looked up and Jonah followed her gaze as two stars streaked across the sky, dancing over one another and leaving shimmering trails of light in their wake. The glittering glow faded slowly, disappearing into some distant place far beyond.
“Do you think they’re up there?” Clara murmured.
Jonah glanced at her, his heart swelling with love for the woman he’d first fallen in love with through a wall of stone and who he now walked side by side with through the world.
He’d once been her wish collector, but she’d been the one to give him all of the things he’d never dared to dream of. Happiness. Peace. Pride. A soul mate.
“Yes,” Jonah whispered, squeezing her hand. That night it was easy to believe in magic. That night, there was magic all around him.
